


Xenophilia

by Aris Merquoni (ArisTGD)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-17
Updated: 2008-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArisTGD/pseuds/Aris%20Merquoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the Season 2 episode Conversion. John in the throes of his transformation is something new, something terrifying, something Elizabeth has never seen before. What changes inside her is harder to catalogue and come to terms with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Xenophilia

Elizabeth knew something was wrong when John wouldn't look at her. She'd seen the changes the retrovirus had wrought on his arm, his skin, but she hadn't expected it to move so far so fast. It had only been a couple of hours since he'd broken her window; only a couple hours since he'd been confined to quarters.

"If you need to see a doctor..." she offered, hesitant.

"I need a bigger security detail," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He kept his face turned away from her, limned in the low light from the curtained windows. "At least two men, stationed at my door, sooner rather than later."

She felt herself frowning, reflexively, not wanting to admit to the dull prickling in her chest. "Now, what are you talking about?"

"Just trust me, Elizabeth, you're going to need it."

"Listen," she said, "John, if--"

He turned his face to look at her, and her breath caught. "Oh, my God," she said, unable to stop herself.

The blue had spread up the side of his neck, like a bruise; it feathered across the right side of his face to brush at his lips. His eyelid blinked closed across an iris like a lizard's as he stared at her. "They need to hurry," he said.

Security detail. Right. "You should be in the infirmary," she insisted, unable to tear her eyes away from the faint ridges on his neck, the mottled blue. How far down did it reach? Was it spreading across his chest, down to his hips? Like dipping his arm in blue paint, letting it soak across his skin like pigment eluting out in chromatic rings on filter paper.

"The infirmary. Isn't. Secure," he said, biting off each word, sounding almost resentful. "The inhibitor's only keeping me lucid. It's not slowing the retrovirus."

"Still--" she prepared to argue.

"DON'T ARGUE WITH ME!" And suddenly he was on his feet, angry and alien, in her face and snarling. "I'm not safe to be around anymore."

She wavered, but refused to let herself retreat, refused to give in--this was John, this was still John.

He made a small motion with his head, and when she didn't answer, insisted, "Get some more men at my door and get the hell out of here."

"Okay," she reassured him, "okay." And yet she couldn't bring herself to follow his instructions. She knew it was the rational, intelligent thing to do. But at the moment she wasn't feeling rational. And she wasn't going to abandon a friend.

"Did you hear what I--"

"What does it feel like?" The question was out of her mouth before she thought it through.

John stared at her with his mismatched eyes, then pulled back, into himself, sitting back on his bed and deliberately turning away again. She hesitated, then sat down next to him, letting him keep his face averted.

"It feels--" his voice was raspy, hesitant. "It feels like... I'm twisting, what I want, and--" he took a deep breath, one that shook from his lungs. "And I _want_, that's... I _want_."

His hands were clenching and relaxing, curling where they rested on his thighs. Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand, his left hand, the one that still felt soft and human under her fingers. John started and pulled his head back to stare at her, and she met his gaze unflinchingly.

He took a breath and said, "Elizabeth, I don't think you should--"

"I know," she said, "what I'm doing."

Oh, yes. She knew what she was doing, knew what had already been whispered around, knew what Caldwell had meant with his "You're close, aren't you?" and she knew what she was going to do as she reached up and touched the spot on his cheekbone where the blue faded to pink, the wavefront of exposure on his skin.

"No," he said, suddenly flinching and grabbing her wrist. His hand was cold, his fingers strong. "No, you don't--you don't understand, I'm not--"

"It's okay," she said.

"No, I'm not okay," he argued. "And it's not--God, you don't even--I want to just rip your clothes off, okay?" His eyes were gleaming, gold and blue and he was alternating between staring at her and looking down at where he was grabbing her hand to keep from staring. "I want to fuck you--there, I said it, I want to fuck you like a cheap porno, but it's not, it's not you, right? I'd be just using you, and I'd feel the same if it were Teyla or Cadman or--hell, even Rodney or Ronon, if they'd let me." His fingers curled tighter around her wrist, and he pulled, unconsciously, making her lean closer to him. "Dammit."

"Stop arguing," she said, and leaned in to kiss him.

John gasped and leaned back, and she grabbed his shirt and followed him down. His lips were cold, he arched his back and pushed human fingers out and under her shirt, scrabbling at her waist. "I, oh, off--"

She locked her legs around his waist, ignoring her shoes, and grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked it upward, desperate to see that wash of blue over his chest. He gasped and reached for her, hindering her efforts; she pushed his shoulders down to the bed hard, and while he was recoiling she managed to push the fabric up over his shoulders, over his head, leaving his torso bare.

Her breath caught, and he froze, slowly reaching for her, letting her look. The blue had spread, mottled and rippled his skin, reaching to the crease of his pectorals and flooding just south of his ribs. His right hand clenched and unclenched on his sheets, and she imagined the brush of feeder-claws, suddenly, skimming out of his palm; he caught her looking and winced, grabbing hold of his bedclothes and tearing them with the talon-like fingernails he'd grown. Elizabeth ducked her head, then leaned forward and pressed her nose to his chest, smelling the sweet musk of John's sweat, and the bitter scent of something not human, something alien, something different.

Simon would never recognize her like this, she realized, turning her head and pressing her mouth against the line of change on John's skin. She reached out her tongue and licked along the boundary and heard John gasp, felt him shudder and lie back, hips bucking under hers. He tasted like hard work and new planets and sky and salt and Atlantis here beneath her and new new new places to go.

"Condom?" she asked, breathless.

John looked up, blinked a few times before his eyes focused. "Bedstand. Here--" He twisted, reached, managed to hook the drawer and pull out a foil packet without displacing her. She nuzzled into his chest and licked across the grayblue until she found his nipple, sucked it between her lips experimentally. "Mmm!" he moaned, sharp, and wrapped his arm around the back of her neck to press her close; she tongued the nub of nerves until he was panting.

"Nice?" she asked.

"Havetofuckyou," he said, one word, pushed her away far enough to undo his pants.

She had to remind him about the condom, held him back long enough for him to slip it on with a few hasty tugs, but then he was flipping her onto her back with her pants trapped at her ankles and he was pushing, rough, two or three thrusts and then he was all the way in, face buried in her neck and both hands splayed on the bed. She'd never liked this position, resented feeling trapped and unable to reach her clit, but her feet were caught under John's and he was pushing that cold-blue patch of skin over her breast and his hips were jabbing--right--there--she grabbed ahold of his belt and just rocked herself into his thrusts, rolling down and into his cock, and bit her lip and sobbed out her orgasm into the blue-gray curve of his shoulder, sparking and shuddering against his rhythm. He almost didn't notice, just slammed down and into her harder, violent almost, sliding slick inside her and forcing her backwards up his sheets with each thrust.

And as her orgasm coasted to a warm finish and it was just starting to get painful as he ground into her, he gasped and panted and pushed close, firm, shuddering and making little twitches with his hips. She ran her hands over his back and squeezed around him.

"Ahhh," he moaned, then pulled back and out of her. "Oh, man..."

"John?" she asked, putting a hand to his face. "Are you..."

"Mmm, yeah, I feel... oh, man. Hey, did you--" He awkwardly leaned on his right hand and slipped his left between them, down to tease at her clitoris with unerring accuracy. She was about to protest when he looked down and she was caught in that asymmetric and alien gaze, and she rubbed upwards for just an instant to bridge that gap in a lightning arc, her breath freezing in her chest and burning coalescing in that space right between John's fingers--yes--

"Oh," she said when her legs relaxed and the tingling rush subsided to a glow. "I, that... thanks."

"You're welcome," John said, smiling.

She reached up and brushed his face, and his smile froze a bit, and he pulled away from her. "Sorry," he said.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows. Her shirt was askew, and she tugged it down.

"Lucid," he said, "surprisingly."

Elizabeth reached down and grabbed her pants, wriggled them back on. "Are you okay?"

He shuddered, once, all-over. "Not really." He looked up, and for a moment she could see the fear his earlier anger had been hiding. But it was gone, and he was curling up on his bed, facing away from her again. "I shouldn't have--you need to get out of here. And remember that security detail."

She reached out to touch him again, and he flinched away. "Go, seriously," he said, and she couldn't help feeling a wrenching in her stomach as she turned to leave.

She told the guard on his door about doubling the security detail, left to check on Lorne's team, stopped to take a long series of deep breaths when she was out of sight of John's door.

* * *

Dr. Beckett's solution worked, eventually; Colonel Sheppard was back on his feet and back to his normal color in almost no time. The debriefing she conducted in the infirmary was short and official, avoiding any unpleasant discussion of... well.

"Can I talk to you?"

She looked up to see Sheppard standing in the doorway of her office, looking uncomfortable. "Sure," she said, gesturing at the chair across from her and trying to pretend that this conversation wasn't going to go where it was.

John cleared his throat, then hesitantly took the chair and looked around to make sure nobody was going to listen in. "So, I was just thinking, I never apologized for... um. I mean..."

This was going to be the conversation she'd been practicing avoiding in her head for the last week. She took a deep breath and pulled out the first response she'd worked out. "John, it's all right. In fact, I should be apologizing to you. I knew what I was doing, and you were under the influence of intrinsically mind-altering substances. I'm sorry."

He stared at her with his eyebrows pulling together in a bemused and slightly hurt expression. "Um, okay," he finally said. "I'm glad you're not--because I'm, obviously, not mad at you or anything..."

"Good," she said, hoping to forestall any more of this.

"And, um, from what I remember it was pretty... good, so," he resettled himself in his chair, looked up at her from underneath his bangs, "I don't know if... you want to talk about it, later, maybe over coffee; I know where McKay hides his stash, so if we sneak in before he runs out..."

Prepared response number two came to her lips. "I appreciate the thought, Colonel, but I think it's probably best if we try and keep our relationship professional."

John stared at her for a couple seconds, digesting that, then said, "Oh. Okay."

She took a deep breath, preparing for further discussion, but John just shrugged and said, "Well, great, glad we could, uh, talk. See you around."

Elizabeth watched him leave, closed her eyes and sank gratefully into her chair when he was safely down the hall.

* * *

Given all that, it was with a bit of a shock that Elizabeth opened her door that evening to find John there, in a T-shirt and jeans. She stared, he pointed at her accusingly and said, "It was the bug thing, wasn't it?"

Her mouth went dry and she could hear herself saying, as if from a distance, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, yes you do," he said, stepping forward. She stood her ground, which brought him up short. He stared at her for a second, blinking, then said, "Can I come in? I just... I think conversations like this should happen in private."

"Conversations where you accuse me of bizarre sexual predilections? Of course." She held his gaze for another second, then stepped back. "Come right on in."

John had to nearly tiptoe around her to get inside, which gave her a few moments to recover her composure. "So, it was some sort of kink, is that it?" he asked. "Like, a guy-turning-feral, losing-his-mind sort of thing?"

"No, John, that wasn't it at all," she said, completely honestly.

"Well, I don't get it, then, because you were sure all over me then, and really not interested now."

"My motivations--"

"You were _licking_ me," he complained.

She took a deep breath, nodded, and said, "I remember. But I don't see how discussing this will help our working relationship any."

John frowned at her, then said, "Well, I'd like to know if next time I start turning into an alien, or a tree, or whatever else this galaxy wants to throw at us, if I'm going to have to worry about you--"

"I am perfectly able to control myself, thank you," she snapped.

"And also, I thought, maybe if I figure out what you like..."

She stared at him for a second, then hesitantly said, "You're trying to seduce me. By insulting me. John, I hate to tell you this, but that's no way to get a woman into bed."

"No!" He put his hands to his head. "No, I just... want to figure this out. Because I really wish I remembered better. Because..." he ran out of words and shrugged, then smiled sheepishly. "Well, yeah, okay, a little because I wanted to seduce you."

She couldn't help smiling a bit, and he stepped forward. "Elizabeth... look, I know it's against regs, and a bad idea maybe, but... we've been through enough that I think we've got our priorities in order. And obviously something in you decided to take that chance, or we wouldn't be here. So trust me?"

His expression was so earnest that Elizabeth felt herself wanting to smile, just a little, just let go of the tightness suddenly constricting her chest. It was a feeling she remembered from grad school, one of having learned enough to not give parts of herself away to good-looking men but realizing she was about to do something monumentally stupid anyway.

"It's just that you were so..." She hesitated, one final moment before taking the plunge. "This whole place is so different, and you were changing into... something new." She stopped, his confusion halting her, standing on that precipice and thinking _God, Elizabeth, what have you done now..._

John took a breath. "So it _was_ the bug thing."

"Not..." she shook her head. "Not the whole thing, just the way you looked, the way your skin..." Her hand was moving, of its own accord, and she pulled it back to her chest, down to her side. John was staring at her fingers, and she cleared her throat. "I didn't mean to..."

"Yeah, I think I get it," he said softly.

"It's not that it wasn't _you_," she said. "But I'm still--I shouldn't have done it, we work together, and--" she stopped herself from apologizing again, stood there with her arms automatically crossing over her stomach.

"I... didn't mind," he said. "Like I said, I think it might have helped, a little. Somehow."

She took a deep breath. "Good."

"'kay," he said. "Well, glad we got that cleared up."

"Yes," she said distantly.

"See you at the meeting tomorrow," he said, then stepped past her and out the door.

Elizabeth wrapped her arms tighter around her stomach and groaned angrily. Again. Always and again.

* * *

For all her terror, the next morning went smoothly.

And the next.

John didn't seem to hold it against her, anyway. He went back to being cooly professional, teasing Dr. McKay and smiling awkwardly at Teyla and going jogging with Ronon. They went on missions, she minded the city and encouraged the science team and dealt with Caldwell and things worked themselves out. She was breathing a sigh of relief that things had gone back to normal when John walked into her office one evening, smirking.

"Colonel?" she asked after he'd done nothing but pose silently in front of her desk for a few seconds.

"So," he said casually, "Rodney had me checking out a few things they found in one of the storage areas, Ancient gadgets, y'know, and he found this." He held up a small wire bracelet, which he fed his fingers through and slipped down his wrist. "And it turns out... it's a camouflage device."

With a slight shimmer, his arm... shifted, until it blended graygreen and was covered in dappled spots of yellow-white chiaroscuro. John looked up to catch her expression, and she jerked her eyes away from his hand and forced herself to meet his eyes.

He was expressionless for a moment, then drawled, "So I was thinking... coffee?"

"John," she said, warningly.

"Or no coffee, that's fine with me too," he said.

"No coffee," she agreed. "Five minutes."


End file.
